


My Heart is My Gun

by Draconifors



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/M, Retelling, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconifors/pseuds/Draconifors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Hancock sees her, she has a fully armored super mutant at her shoulder, a modded Big Boy on her back, and a smile that promises she needs neither to be dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hancock was leaning against the wall of the Old State House, shooting the breeze with Fahrenheit. They’d finished discussing official matters, and had gotten into a bullshitting contest; he’d been busy spinning a tale about a hand-to-paw fight with a Yao Guai when he heard the door to the city open. He didn’t even bother turning around until he heard Finn go on about his insurance bullshit. With a sigh and an eye-roll towards Fahrenheit, Hancock pushes himself up from the wall and gets ready to save whatever bone-weary drifter Finn’s set his sights on this time. He tended to pick the sorriest-looking ones, those that seemed like they hadn’t slept in three years. In hindsight, he should’ve been clued in by Fahrenheit’s interested smirk.

The first thing Hancock notices is the super mutant decked in full battle armor. His hand is already going to his gun when he notices the woman standing in front of it. From her brusque hand gesture and the way the super mutant lets its hand drop from its machete, he gets the impression that she’s the one in charge, and takes a closer look at her. She’s short ﹘ anyone would look short next to a _super mutant_ ﹘ but she needs to lift her head to look at Finn. Even with her inferior height, she has a dangerous aura around her. It could be the way she holds herself, shoulders back and chin high, as if she’s a cocked trigger waiting for release, or the modded Big Boy strapped to her back. Hancock would bet his chem stash on the former. From what he can tell, she has at least another five weapons concealed on her, and he lifts an eyebrow at that.

“Can’t go walking around without insurance,” Finn sneers at the woman, stepping up to her. At her unimpressed eyebrow raise and crossed arms, he steps closer and lowers his voice. “Ya give me everything in them pockets, or _accidents_ are gonna start happening to ya. Big, bloody _accidents_.”

Hancock is about to step in to save her – Finn’s a mean fighter – when Finn is suddenly on the ground, a knee on his back and a knife at his throat. The newcomer grabs the back of his jacket to keep his head up, and leans down. Her red hair just brushes the side of Finn’s face.

“Now, now, big guy, I’m _sure_ you didn’t mean to threaten me, did ya?” She drawls, vowels heavy and voice gravelly. The woman leans sideways to make eye contact, and, when no answer is forthcoming, she slams his head into the pavement. Hancock winces at the sound the flesh hitting the concrete makes, but the visitor’s gaze stays impassive. She raises Finn’s bloodied face up and drags the knife on the taut skin of his throat. Even from where he’s standing, Hancock can see blood pearl on the blade, and he hears Finn’s panicked whimper. “Threaten me again, and you’ll need a breathing aid for the rest of your life. Insurance ain’t gonna help you. Understood?”

At Finn’s shaky nod, the woman lets his head drop and holsters the knife back into her boot. Hancock hadn’t even seen her grab it. She gets up in one fluid motion and looks at the man lying at her feet, deep in thought. Having apparently reached a conclusion, she gives Finn a heavy kick in the ribs, scuffed leather boots making a muted sound, before stepping around him.

She makes her way towards Hancock, a quick hand signal bringing the Super Mutant to heel.

“You sure know how to make an entrance, don’t ya? I like it,” Hancock tells her, giving her a once-over. “Asserting dominance as soon as you walk in.” She’s not as short as she initially appeared; she comes up to his nose. After surveying him from head to toe, she looks him in the eye. _Means I’m not the first ghoul she sees. Gonna make Goodneighbor easier for her, then._

“I was worried the Super Mutant wouldn’t attract enough attention, so I decided to maim one of your citizens too,” she smirks up at him, full red lips quirking at the corners. “Hope he wasn’t _too_ important.” The curve of her lip is distracting, and Hancock can’t help but think that, even after the whole Finn debacle, that smile is the most dangerous thing about her.

Just as he’s about to introduce himself, Hancock sees Finn struggle to get up, wheezing, before determinedly making his way towards them. With the way his hand reaches for his belt, Hancock can imagine he doesn’t want to congratulate the newcomer on her fighting technique. Said newcomer already has a revolver trained on Finn, lightning-fast, but she’s watching Hancock. He nods at her and walks up to the bleeding man, stifling a sigh. He knew Finn wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box – he threatened a woman with a _super mutant and a Big Boy_ – but he’d hoped the local would let it drop. _Guess not._

“Finn, my man, I guarantee that you don’t wanna do that,” Hancock says, stopping at arm’s length before Finn. He can hear the other man wheezing, and blood is slowly dripping from his face. He looks like _shit_. “She just handed your ass to you, and I reckon you’re lucky you’re still alive. Learn from this, and live another day.”

“Are you gonna let her just waltz in and do this? She ain’t even one of us!” Finn spits back, snarling at Hancock. His eyes keep flitting over his shoulder, and Hancock knows he’s looking at the woman standing behind him.

“Well, see, thing is I reckon you deserved it. You don't threaten guests, and the first time someone steps through that door, they're guests.” Hancock has his hips cocked and a hand on his hip, the image of nonchalance but his knife within easy reach. “Got that?”

“What kind of fuckin’ mayor are ya? Vic would never have let some bitch do that.”

“See, Finn, the thing about Vic is that he’s dead.” Hancock steps up to Finn, claps a hand on his shoulder and grabs his knife from its sheath. In one fluid motion, the knife goes in, out, in, three times. Hancock steps back and lets Finn’s body fall with a loud thud. “And now so are you. Shame.”

Hancock wipes his knife on Finn’s jacket and sheaths it, turning back to the newcomer. Her gun is back in its holster, somewhere on her body, and she’s looking at him. Over her shoulder, Hancock can see Fahrenheit smirk.

He steps up to the newcomer, offers up a half-apologetic smile.

“Sorry you had to deal with that mess. Promise Goodneighbor’s usually not that bad.”

“I believe you, _Mayor_ _Hancock_. Thanks for taking care of him.” The way she says his name is sinful, and he can’t help the quick glance at her lips. Face paints crisscrosses them, a red mouth grille matching the no one sign painted in the middle of her face. 

“In any case, welcome to Goodneighbor, a town for all the misfits, run by yours truly. Of the people, for the people.”

“ _Of the people, for the people_? Oh bother,” she snorts, but her smirk lets him know she’s taking the piss. Hancock laughs with her. “In any case, I’ll let you get back to your undoubtedly important mayoral duties. I’ve a bar to hit, and caps to spend getting fancy guns.”

With a nod to him and another to Fahrenheit, she saunters over to Kill or Be Killed, her Super Mutant at her heels. She turns her head to it, and Hancock is surprised when the two have a hushed discussion. At least, her voice is hushed, and the Super Mutant’s is slightly quieter than the usual shout.

Hancock watches her go with interest, hips swaying hypnotically and guns bobbing rhythmically. Fahrenheit clears her throat, and he turns his head towards her.

“What’re you still smirking for, F?”

“She’s good-looking, isn’t she?” Fahrenheit leans against the wall, and raises an eyebrow at him. “I saw you checking out her ass when she walked away. And I know you like women with freckles and guns. Didn't know you had a thing for face paint, though.”

“I ain’t gonna lie, she’s attractive. It doesn’t mean anything, F. You know me. I’m a ladies’ ghoul.”

“Ain’t everyday that you stab a local ‘cause he insulted a visitor, Hancock. It’s not the first time Finn’s pulled this shit, and you never snapped before.”

“It’s the first time he says something about Vic, though. I couldn’t let that shit fly.”

Fahrenheit looks unconvinced, but lets it drop. Hancock punches her in the shoulder, a bit harder than he really needed to, and, when he nods to the State House, they walk in and up to his quarters. He’s feeling like Mentats and a speech, tonight.

It bothers him that he didn’t get the visitor’s name, though.


	2. Chapter 2

Hancock’s favorite part about being mayor is probably interacting with the people of Goodneighbor. He doesn’t do speeches too often, because they’d get boring otherwise, but he always enjoys seeing his citizens crowd under the balcony of the State House, and them cheering for him gives him a high that most chems can’t. The only chem that came close to his feelings after his inaugural speech is Daddy-O, and that’s saying something.

Today’s speech had been about the importance of sticking together against the Institute, and it had been overdue. Word around town was that the Institute was becoming more daring; just yesterday, Goodneighbor’s own Sammy got snatched up and replaced by an Institute Synth. It was the first time since Hancock became mayor that the Institute made a move on Goodneighbor, and it made him jittery. Were they getting ready for a bigger move, or just putting feelers out? With this, and the gangs in the warehouses, he has enough on his plate without the newcomer muddling everything up. Last he’d heard of her, she’d sent her super mutant off on an errand, and was flirting her way through the Third Rail. She’d been in town for all of eighteen hours, and already his Triggermen were whispering about her.

“What’re you looking all mopey for, Hancock?” Fahrenheit asked, leaning over the back of the sofa Hancock was currently lounging on. For someone wearing as much metal as she was, she made surprisingly little noise.

 “Just a lot of shit goin’ on lately, ya feel? With Sammy, the gangs up in the warehouse, and Finn… I feel like I should’ve done something before all this. Am I getting soft, F?”

“I don’t think you could’ve prevented any of this from happening. You know no one can predict or stop what the Institute is up to, and you did what you had to do about Finn. It’s useless beating yourself up about it, John. It’s not an easy thing, being mayor, and you’re doing a pretty good job. Take a Mentat and go down to the Rail, have a beer or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hancock sighs. “Are you coming too?”

“Nah. I’ll stay up here. Don’t think there’s as much of interest to me down there,” Fahrenheit replies, a smirk barely apparent on her lips.

“I will choose to ignore that and gracefully make my way downstairs. If I’m not back up by four, come check if I’m still breathing.” Fahrenheit snorts at that, and Hancock pops two Mentats before going down the stairs. He nods at his Triggermen, and pretends he didn’t hear them just whispering about the newcomer. Again. It was getting old, but then, it wasn’t every day that Goodneighbor had attractive women with armored super mutants and intimidating gun skills waltzing into town.

It takes Hancock ten minutes to make it to the Rail’s doors, because he stops and talks to everyone he sees. Shoulder claps, inquiries about relatives’ health, jokes, and he remembers why he loves being mayor so much. With a last nod to Jim – the man is a great shot, but never knows when to shut up – Hancock pushes the door to the bar open.

“Mayor Hancock! Good to see you,” Ham calls out, tipping his hat. “You haven’t been down here in a while.”

“Ham, my man, I know. Going to fix that tonight. How have you been?” Hancock claps the man on the shoulder, grinning. Ham never was very expressive, but the mayor liked him nonetheless. He was down-to-earth and no-nonsense, and Hancock trusted him to keep the Third Rail in good order.

“Not too bad, sir, not too bad. It’s been pretty quiet down here lately.”

“Has it? How long do you think it’ll last?”

“Until… now,” Ham sighs, and looks over Hancock’s shoulder. Hancock turns around, and sees the newcomer walk in with Magnolia draped over her. The redhead leans up to whisper something to Magnolia, making the singer laugh. From the way the leather coat Magnolia is wearing doesn’t quite reach her wrists and has too many scuffs for a singer’s life, Hancock has no doubts that it isn’t hers. The stranger is wearing a sleeveless leather coat that looks like it does little against the autumn chill, but conveniently shows her toned and tattooed arms. They stop a few steps into the bar, where the redhead gently disentangles herself from the singer,

“Thanks for a great time, Nola,” the redhead says, leaning up on her toes to kiss Magnolia on the cheek.

“The same to you, gorgeous. I’ll be thinking of you up on stage.” Magnolia makes to remove the coat from her shoulders, but hand gesture stops her.

“Keep the coat. I like the way it looks on you. And it’s a way for you to remember me.” The last is said with a wink and a smirk, and Magnolia laughs.

 “You shouldn’t be worried about me forgetting you. Won’t you be cold, though?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I plan to drink myself warm. I’m sure your loyal fans are missing their favourite songbird, though.”

Magnolia blows a kiss to the woman, winks at Hancock and Ham, and saunters down the stairs. Hancock pretends he and the redhead weren’t both checking out the singer’s ass, and turns to her with a grin.

“I see that you’ve been keeping busy. Enjoying Goodneighbor?”

“I’ve found it to be very… welcoming. I see myself liking it a lot. The bed was too small for Strong though.” At Hancock’s raised eyebrow and puzzled glance, she clarifies. “The super mutant. That’s the name he chose. Predictable, but it’s his.”

“Ah. Is that why you sent him off?”

“Partly. Also because I plan to enjoy myself and making sure he doesn’t take a bite out of someone isn’t part of that plan, y’know?”

“I hear ya,” Hancock laughs.

Behind them, Ham coughs. Hancock blinks. He’d almost forgotten about the ghoul standing behind him, but the redhead’s interested gaze tells him she hadn’t.

“I see that I'm wanted away from here. I shall comply for now, but my offer still stands, Ham. Whenever you’re up for some… downstairs entertainment, let me know.” She nods to Hancock, blows a kiss to Ham, and follows Magnolia down the stairs, lighting a cigarette with a lighter she nicked from the table. Looking back over her shoulder, she throws it back to Ham. “Thanks for the fire.”

Ham effortlessly catches it and coughs at Hancock’s look.

“ _Downstairs entertainment_? That’s a poorly-veiled euphemism if I’ve heard one, man.” The mayor leans on the pillar and raises an eyebrow at the bouncer. He doesn’t know what to make of the woman’s shameless flirting, but a small corner of his mind can’t help but notice she apparently likes ghouls.

“First time she walked in, she kept hovering. So I told her entertainment’s down the stairs.” Ham sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. “She hasn’t dropped that since. I’m tired of it and it’s only been _four hours_.”

Hancock laughs at that, claps Ham on the shoulder, and makes his own way down the stairs. He nods at the drifters who look up at him, and scans the room. Magnolia’s singing up on stage, Charlie’s polishing a glass, and the newcomer’s up at the bar, speaking to MacCready. She leans in to listen to something he’s saying, replies, and nods him towards the door. With a matching nod, MacCready pats his pocket and leaves the bar, nodding to Hancock. Hancock had never really talked to the man, mostly because the man never really talked to anyone, but he was a mean shot whenever Goodneighbor got attacked, and that was enough for the ghoul.

The redhead turns away from the bar, a bottle of vodka in one hand and whiskey in the other. When she spots him, she nods and lifts up the whiskey bottle. When Hancock starts to make his way towards her, she gets up from the bar and tilts her head towards the VIP room. With a nod to Charlie and a shrug to the woman, he follows, patting his hip for his knife. He doesn’t think she has any bad intentions, but it never hurts to be safe.

He reaches the room before her, and plops down on one of the couches. She pauses at the door, one foot raised to kick it closed, but looks at him questioningly first. Hancock’s gotta appreciate that she’s making herself seem as non-threatening as possible. _Which is still pretty damn threatening, if I’m honest with myself._ As soon as he nods, her combat-boot clad foot nudges the door shut. She hands him the bottle of whisky, ice-cold like he likes them, and drags the small table to the red couch, near the one he’s sitting on. Hancock doesn’t miss the way she chose the couch with the clearest view to the door, but chooses not to comment on it.

The woman reaches behind her and starts pulling a gun out of her jacket. Hancock’s hand goes to his knife, to which the woman smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“Chill. I’m just gonna put it on the table because I don’t like getting drunk with a loaded gun on my back. If you’d like, I can put the rest of my guns on the table. Provided the courtesy is returned, of course.”

“Sounds fair. Do the knives go too?”

“You want me completely naked, then, Mayor Hancock?” At his cough, she snorts. “I’d rather keep my knives, if it’s all the same. They’re on me all the time.”

“That works with me. Guns on the table, and we both keep our knives.”

Hancock pulls out his shotgun from its holster, and the small pistol he keeps in his boot. The woman sets the vodka down on the floor and gets up. She finishes taking the sniper rifle out from its back holster, and Hancock whistles. It’s one of the best-maintained guns he’s seen, metal gleaming and well-used. The sight’s top-notch, and the barrel is lengthened.

“I usually have to take more clothes off before I get that reaction,” she says, lips pulled up in a smirk. At his surprised snort, she laughs. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. Like what you see? Debbie right here’s the apple of my eye. Quiet, swift and deadly. My favorite things in a gun.” She holds the gun up for him to see, and twirls it, so the butt is facing him. For the first time, Hancock sees the beginning of a genuine smile on her face. “Want to check her out?”

“I’d be honored to,” Hancock replies, feeling like he should be reverent. The gun is heavier than he expects, and his thumb brushes an engraving on the wooden stock. He turns the gun up to look at it more closely. In a sharp script, he reads _Freedom and Independence_.

“Something the original Deborah Sampson said in one of her speeches. That’s all that would fit on the stock. She was one of the few female soldiers during the Revolutionary War, you know. Lied to enlist, and lasted a year and a half. Got honorably discharged, but no real pay to speak of-”

“Until Governor John Hancock approved her petition, right?”

“That’s right,” says the woman, surprise in her voice. She smiles at him. “Wild coincidence, eh? I also have a suppressor for Debbie, but I only put it on when I need it. I’d rather have range most of the time.”

 “It’s an impressive gun. Congratulations.” Hancock hands her the rifle back, and nods at the scope. “You do your mods yourself?”

“Of course. No one else messes with my baby. Modded her from muzzle to stock.” She delicately places the rifle on the table, making sure that it points at neither of them. The stock is still conveniently within reach, Hancock notices.

She removes a pipe bolt-action from her left thigh, pulls out two identical .44 pistols from under her jacket, unholsters a combat shotgun from her hip, takes out a large, bull-barreled pistol from its calf holster on her right leg, and finally pulls out a small 10mm from her leather combat boot. All the guns are well-modded, and in impeccable shape.

Hancock lets out another whistle and raises both eyebrows. He looks from the small armory the woman removed from her person, to the two guns he carries, and feels inadequate.

“Any reason you carry that many guns?” Hancock looks her up and down. “Gotta get heavy at the end of a long day.”

“Got used to it. I guess you could call it habit. Came with the job, and it stayed with me.” She takes a swig of vodka with her left hand, and extends the right one to him. “Never properly introduced myself. Autumn Lionheart. General of the Minutemen, and a merc, I guess. A _very_ good one. According to most Diamond City residents, general shitstirrer, too.” Hancock smiles at the last part of her introduction, takes her hand and shakes it, finds it to be small but calloused.

“John Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor. You already knew that, though, didn’t you?”

“Never go somewhere without doing research.” She smirks at him, and takes another swig of vodka. Hancock imitates her and drinks from his bottle. “Information is power, and I'm very good at finding information. Couldn't find very much about you, though.”

“Is that an underhanded way of asking me about myself?” Hancock smirks, and at her amused shrug, laughs. He takes a drink of whiskey before continuing. “Glad to deliver. I’m my favourite subject. I came into town about… a decade ago? Had a smooth set of skin back then. Between trying to make myself a pillar of this community and not getting shanked in the night, I would go on these, like, wild tears. Any chems I could find, I would take. The more exotic, the better. Finally found this experimental radiation drug. Only one of its kind, and only one hit.”

“And you took it.” It’s not a question, but Hancock can’t hear any judgment in her voice, so he keeps going.

“Fuck yeah. The high was _so_ worth it. Yeah, I’m livin’ with the side-effects, but hey, what’s not to love about immortality?”

“Are you really immortal?”

“I mean, not really. Ghouls just age _real_ slow, y’know? Something about rads, maybe.”

“That’s real cool,” Autumn says, eyebrows raised. “Hell of a risk, though.”

“You only live once, right? Why not try it all?”

“Amen. I can drink to that. _To trying it all because why the hell not?_ ” Autumn raises her bottle, and Hancock clinks his against it. They both take a deep drink. “Weird question, but did becoming a ghoul change your chem tolerance? ‘Cause if you can resist rads, your metabolism had to change.”

“Nah, not really. They still work. I guess withdrawal is less shitty now, though. Still feel it, but less.”

 “Cool, thanks. What about Goodneighbor? Tell me about your town.” 

“Goodneighbor’s all about the people, you feel? They’re freaks, misfits, and troublemakers and that’s why I love ‘em. Everyone here can live life their own way, no judgments. We take in anyone looking for a home and who won’t fit in anywhere else. Don’t care if you’re a synth, a ghoul, or even a super mutant. As long as you play nice.”

“Now that’s a policy I can get behind.”

“Now my turn to ask a question. How’d you get a super mutant to follow you?”

“I was wondering how long that would take,” Autumn laughs. “Mind if I light a cig?” At Hancock’s head shake, she takes one out of her coat and uses a lighter she fished out of her coat. With a short gesture, she offers him one, which he takes and puts in his mouth. Before he can fish his lighter out, she leans in, takes a drag from her cigarette and lights his on fire with the burning end. The way she looks up at him from under her lashes is sinful, and Hancock takes a deep breath. With a smirk and a puff of smoke, Autumn sits back. “The super mutant. I was just dicking around near Vault 114 when I heard a distress call on the radio. Some dude locked up on the top of a tower filled with super mutants. Because I’m a selfless, goodnatured soul, I went there to save him. Left my dog behind, cause no way in hell was I making Dogmeat go up Trinity Tower.” 

“Two things. First, you named your dog Dogmeat?”

“Found him at a Red Rocket truck stop, and he led me to the last of the Minutemen. He came with the name, but it’s a cool name, yeah?”

“It’s pretty sweet, yeah. Just… unexpected, y’know. Anyway, you went up Trinity Tower alone? For a random distress call? And made it back alive?”

“Told you. I’m _very_ good at my job. Took me seven hours and a couple of stimpaks, but yeah. Super mutants have really short attention spans. Shoot one of them, and ten minutes later, they’re walking around again like nothing happened. Anyway, I get to the top of the tower, and this green dick called Fist comes out with a minigun. Nicked my shoulder, but a couple of bullets to the face stopped his laugh. After longer than I care to admit, he’s dead and I get to the man who sent out the distress call. Do you know why that dumbass was there? He wanted to teach Shakespeare to the super mutants.”

“No, you’re bullshitting me,” Hancock laughs. The scandalized and confused frown on the redhead’s face convinces him that she’s telling the truth, and he laughs harder.

“He had the fucking script for Macbeth up in that cage. Who does that? Who thinks it’s a good idea to go up to a super mutant base and quote Shakespeare at them? _By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes._ The wicked thing's already there, dumbass.” Autumn frowns and takes a deep gulp from her bottle. Hancock sees it’s more than half empty, and takes a drink from his to catch up. “Anyway, Strong was locked up there too for some reason, so I let them both out. I manage to get them down the tower, while Goodman’s simpering and running around and Strong’s kind of growling at things. You know what I got for my efforts? A Shakespeare quote and a dress, because that dude was walking around with a dress for some reason. And Strong was saying something about looking for the _milk of human kindness_ , whatever the fuck that is, and I told him I’d help him find it if he followed me.”

“Unbelievable,” Hancock laughs and lounges more comfortably. If his shift takes him closer to Autumn, neither of them comment on it. “He listens to you pretty well, all things considered.”

“Didn’t use to at first though. Got sick of it and told him I’d kick his ass in hand-to-hand combat if he didn’t follow my orders instantly. He didn’t look convinced.”

“So what did you do?”

“I kicked his ass in hand-to-hand combat, of course. What’d you think?” Autumn grins at him, and he has no trouble believing her.

The redhead finishes off her bottle and gets up, signalling Hancock to stay there. In a surprisingly stable walk, she goes to the door and then to the bar. Hancock doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not checking her ass out. _I’d like to thank whoever invented leather pants. Did everyone a great service._ With a deep breath, he shifts and finishes off his bottle too. The booze is starting to do its job, and he’s comfortably warm. Autumn’s proving to be comfortable company, and pretty down-to-earth. That she’s easy on the eyes also helps, if he’s honest with himself.

The subject of his thoughts comes back, two bottles of vodka in one hand and a bottle of Nuka Cola Quantum in the other. He raises an eyebrow at that, because he knows Charlie’s rare bottles don’t come cheap, but his question dies in his throat when Autumn plops herself down on the couch next to him, her leather-clad thigh rubbing his.

“What do you think of _Never Have I Ever_ ?” The grin she has on her face is both intimidating and arousing, and Hancock’s not one to back down from a challenge. _Try everything once, because why not, right?_

“I’m down to play. Who starts?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can come talk to me on tumblr: draconiforsss.tumblr.com!


	3. Chapter 3

Hancock awakes to the sound of a trigger being cocked and Fahrenheit’s voice coming from his right.

“That won’t be necessary,” his bodyguard rasps, and Hancock doesn’t even need to open his eyes to see her unimpressed expression.

“If you say so. Just didn’t expect anyone to barge in at five in the morning, ya feel?” Autumn’s low voice comes from next to him, and Hancock blearily opens his eyes. He has a headache forming behind his eyes, and, while he does remember all of last night, he wishes he hadn’t drank as much. His hangovers aren’t as bad since he turned ghoul, but he did drink two bottles of whiskey, so today’s hangover is still pretty shitty. Stifling a groan, he sits up and rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Water and coffee on the table, if you need them. Also some Sugar Bombs, in case that’s what you want.”

Hancock aims a grateful nod at the woman sitting next to him, and grabs the cup of coffee. He notices a notebook that he could’ve sworn wasn’t there last night, but he decides not to question it, silently gulping down coffee.

“Why are there eight guns on the table?” Fahrenheit asks, walking into the room and kicking the door closed behind her. Hancock winces at the noise, while Autumn goes back to fiddling with her Pip-Boy, the gun back in its holster.

“It was my show of good faith before gettin’ wasted with your mayor. I also don’t enjoy having a rifle digging into my back while drinking, ya know?”

“Why the hell do you have seven guns on you? And where did your Big Boy go?” Hancock wishes Fahrenheit would ask less questions, at least until his head stops pounding, but she doesn’t seem inclined to stop. He’s surprised that Autumn isn’t giving any indications of having a hangover, though. She drank as much as him, and she doesn’t have his ghoul metabolism either.

“Just the tools of the trade. I need them to do my job. And I sent my super mutant off with it. Didn’t plan on needing it in Goodneighbor, and it served its purpose.” She leans back on the sofa, and takes a sip of the Nuka Cola Quantum she’d bought earlier. “I see you take your guard dog role seriously.”

“I’ve been told my bite is worse than my bark. Would you care to test that?”

“Careful, Hancock, your mutt needs a tighter leash.”

Hancock sees Fahrenheit’s tight shoulders and decides he needs to cut in before either of the redheads crosses a line. He would usually put his money on his bodyguard winning against anyone she goes up against, but he’d rather not risk it now. Even though Fahrenheit is a good head taller than Autumn, and she still has all her weapons on her, he’s seen the way the wastelander moves.

“Anyway, F, didn’t think you’d actually come check on me. Anything happen?”

“Nah, nothing that can’t wait ‘till you sober up.” Fahrenheit casts an interested look at the guns on the table, and Hancock flinches when she raises a hand to grab the rifle.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Autumn’s voice is quiet, an octave lower than usual. When Hancock looks over at her, she’s expressionless, the bottle of Cola on the ground and a gun held loosely in her hand. Her gaze is unflinching as she stares at Fahrenheit. He notices that her eyes are a pale, cold blue, and he wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that threatening look.

“Or what?” The bodyguard sneers, bringing her shoulders back and her chin up, her hand hovering closer to the rifle.

“Or I would have to disappoint Mayor Hancock here by putting in a few more holes in you. Not that you look like you’d know what to do with your current ones.” Ooh, that was low.

Hancock is about to intervene when Fahrenheit suddenly bursts out laughing. Next to him, Autumn has an amused smirk on her lips, and slips the gun back in her boot. She picks the Cola bottle up, and lounges against the armrest.

“That was good, I hadn’t heard it before.” Fahrenheit says, also lounging back against her sofa. Hancock looks from one woman to the other, trying to process what just happened. A minute ago he was afraid the women would shoot each other, now he feels like the butt of a joke. A joke he doesn’t find very funny.

“Anyone would care to explain?”

“Consider it female bonding,” drawls Autumn, at the same time as Fahrenheit says, “It’s a redhead thing.” The two women smirk at each other, and Autumn raises her bottle in a silent toast to Fahrenheit.

Hancock frowns, but doesn’t press it further. He’ll ask Fahrenheit when they’re alone, later, because he doubts either of the women will say anything now. He takes another sip of his coffee, and tries to pretend he’s not sulking. By the amused snorts on both his sides, he’s not very successful.

“Anyway, F, what brings you down here?” He pats down the front of his coat, looking for a pack of Mentats. He gets jittery if he doesn’t have his fix in the morning, and with his hangover and the two redheads in the room, he needs the extra sharpness the drug will bring. “I doubt you came to socialize.”

“Maybe I did, you never know.” At Hancock’s unbelieving snort, Fahrenheit grins. “I didn’t but I could’ve. Nah, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t stabbed in an alley or passed out under a couch again.” Autumn’s eyebrow crept slowly up her forehead after the last part of Fahrenheit’s sentence.

“Ain’t my fault your couch is so shitty I had to sleep on the floor,” he huffs, chewing his Mentats. “And I wasn’t stabbed. My stomach was lightly punctured by a sharp instrument. I wanted to see the relative permeability of my skin to pointy objects. It’s all very scientific.”

Autumn and Fahrenheit wear matching expressions of doubt, one eyebrow lifted and mouth pursed, and Hancock internally groans. One dangerous redhead in his life was enough, yet here he was. He is pretty sure that if Fahrenheit and Autumn put their weapons together, they could arm the whole of Goodneighbor. Which could turn out to be pretty useful, now that he thinks of it. He doesn’t really think either woman would willingly part with her guns, but crazier things have happened.

“Anyway, I’ve some work to do, and you have some sobering up to do.” The last part of Autumn’s sentence is directed at Hancock, and he can’t even argue with it. She downs the last of her Cola, and starts packing up her guns. She’s quick, methodic, as she slips each gun back into its holster, leaving her rifle for last. Hancock is mesmerized by the way her muscles shift as she packs everything away. “I’ll drop by later to talk business. How long do you need to get rid of that hangover?”

Hancock blinks, tilts his head, and shrugs. He hadn’t drank so much in a long time, and he has no idea how long his hangover is going to last. His head is pounding slightly less than it was when he woke up, but that doesn’t mean much.

“Give him twelve hours. Should be enough,” Fahrenheit pipes in, slouching against the ratty couch. Autumn grunts an agreement, grabs a notepad from the table, then nods at the mayor and his bodyguard, and leaves, closing the heavy metal door behind her.

“Did you notice that?” Fahrenheit asks, a frown on her face. Hancock plays back the last few seconds, but other than Autumn’s ass, he hadn’t noticed much and tells her so. “I mean, yeah, she has a great ass, but she makes absolutely no noise when she moves. She has, what, fifty pounds of guns on her, and she’s wearing combat boots, and she didn’t make a noise when she walked out of here.”

“Now that you mention it, that’s true. I mean, can’t say it’s surprising from someone who walks around with almost a dozen guns, but you know. She’s probably more terrifying than she seems. And she’s already pretty damn intimidating.”

“If that’s the case, why did you think it was a good idea to fall asleep after a grand total of six hours knowing her?” Fahrenheit raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and Hancock raises his coffee to his mouth, pointedly fixing the wall. The coffee’s shitty, but most of Charlie’s stuff is, unless you’re drunk. “John. I know you don’t actually enjoy Charlie’s swill that much. What were you thinking?” The very, very, subtle undertone of worry grates on Hancock’s nerves, mostly because he knows Fahrenheit is right. What was he thinking? He didn’t know anything of substance about Autumn. Anything could’ve happened -- he didn’t even remember falling asleep.

“I… wasn’t thinking.” He bristles at Fahrenheit’s dismissive snort, but he knows he’s mostly annoyed at himself. He didn’t become mayor of Goodneighbor by letting his guard down and socializing with any stranger that came through the doors, and it was obvious that Autumn wasn’t just any regular stranger. If he could take what she said at face value -- and he saw no reason not to -- she’s a fearsome warrior and at the head of one of the quickest-growing factions in the region.

“Try not to make a habit of it is all I’m saying, John.” Mercifully, Fahrenheit lets it drop, and grabs the Sugar Bombs from the table. “What’d you even do for six hours?”

“We just talked. She wanted to play Never Have I Ever, and either she’s even better at bullshitting than I am, or she’s even crazier than me. I don’t know which is likelier, and which is more terrifying.”

“I looked a bit into her, asked some of our contacts. She’s probably fuckin’ crazy are the odds. There’s not that much information available on her past. All I know is that six months ago she rescued the last of the Minutemen from a sticky situation in Concord, and ever since, they’ve been spreading quicker than a Radroach infestation. Two months back they retook the Castle.” Hancock whistles. It’s a pretty impressive resume, and he has to admit he’s glad the Minutemen are picking back up, because there’s never enough people looking out for the good of the Commonwealth. “Did she tell you anything about her past?”

“Not really, now that I think of it. Mostly stories about the last few months. Taking on raider camps, going up Trinity Tower alone, shit like that.” Hancock hums, thinking he should’ve been more inquisitive. He yawns and stretches, cracking his neck. “Wonder what business she wants to talk about.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough, eh? Go take a nap, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> A re-telling of Fallout 4 from everyone's favourite Ghoul's perspective. Sole Survivor deviates a bit from canon in her backstory; more to come soon.
> 
> Should be updated every other week.


End file.
